Tulips on the Windowsill
by LindenOwl
Summary: After the war, Matthew finds himself in a cottage in the middle of the Netherlands with a recluse nation. Things go from there, pushed along by the currents of the time.
1. Tulips on the Windowsill

The day, for Matthew, was actually going quite well, until he had to go and find a recluse nation. The entire continent of Europe, from Arthur to Mathias to Ludwig, were complaining about mounds of paperwork due, and somehow, along the way, someone thought Matthew would be a good candidate for visiting the Netherlands. Though, it was nice to see stretches of land in front of him, the endless sky above, and not hear the nations arguing over his head (they never argued to him, of course, because that would require noticing him long enough to both listen to his point and consider it.) Sure, the wilderness was wild enough at home, and rarer to come by in the west of Europe, but it Matthew supposed it was the best to be made of an errand.

He stopped the cycle he had ridden since he had gotten off the ferry and looked at the map Emma had provided. The red dot was somewhere between the sea and Leeuwarden, but the directions, written in the wrong language as Emma must have forgotten both nations shared French instead of Dutch, were less than useful, to say the least.

A nearby village, though, had a few people who offered to help translate. Once he described the Netherlands, all of them could give him the directions by heart to a man they called Lars. Matthew guessed that might be him. Though he'd spent some time in the country itself, and Arthur had brought him a few times to meet the personification, all of the meetings were quite business like or clipped. Even when it was a warm festival or what was supposed to be a thanks, the man acted almost like a shadow. Sure, he would smile and shake hands, and he seemed polite enough, but he never really loosened his tongue.

Set on the right path, Matthew took to his task again, instructions now written in English and much easier to read. Soon he stopped his cycle again beside a quaint house with a row of tulips, well tended to, on the windowsill. He stepped up the stone stairs and knocked on the door, standing back to wait.

Matthew looked around to see the garden beneath and around the windowsill, and the bunnies that were nibbling on them. He wondered if they should have been shooed away, but he supposed if the house's owner hadn't done anything yet, he wouldn't either.

The door opened with a whoosh of air, a stone-faced man with a scarf standing behind it.

"Hello," Matthew said, "Your sister sent lunch."

"Across a country?" the man asked, looking uninterested, but Matthew had heard enough from Arthur how the Netherlands wouldn't refuse free food.

"Well, also to see if you were okay. Emma said she was worried."

"She wasn't," the Netherlands stepped out, and Matthew walked down the stairs and began to follow him, "She just wanted someone to convince me to come back."

"It could be both," Matthew shrugged, as they both reached the shade of a tree and sat.

The nation opposite didn't answer, so Matthew began to open the basket, taking out an entire feast and a box of chocolates to top it off. The Netherlands began to slice and serve the sausages, cheese, and breads, while Matthew set aside the basket and watched.

He picked up one of the crackers once the Netherlands was done, and bit into it, satisfied at the crunch and taste after hours of biking. He watched the other nation do the same, picking up the foods and eating them in a manner that seemed too delicate for his build and stature.

"Why weren't you there at the meeting?"

The Netherlands paused, chewing slowly before answering, "It's a long journey for nothing. Our governments make most of the decisions, anyways."

"It's supposed to show your goodwill, as a nation," Matthew shrugged, keeping his voice low and soft to not seem accusative. Lars, again, didn't answer.

* * *

Although the first meeting, in Matthew's opinion, wasn't successful, nor pleasant, Emma insisted it was good enough, as neither she nor her younger brother received a letter of complaint, or one asking them to never send anyone again. So, armed again with a basket and directions, this time in English, Matthew began again.

He arrived as the sun was in the middle of its zenith and the bottom of the sky; three or four, if he guessed right. He knocked once again on the door, and once more, the Netherlands emerged, now with his Holland Lop- Matthew still refused to call it _Goud_ , as it was only white and brown- nestled in his striped blue and white scarf. He felt the odd need to take a picture, but maybe that could have been chalked up to how Francis would gush on about his own photographers.

"You came again?" The Netherlands asked, although it leaned towards sounding like a statement more than an inquiry.

"Your sister brought you lunch, again," Matthew offered in response, "And I brought maple syrup for the waffles."

"Waffles would get cold. They're probably stroopwafels," the Netherlands stepped out, closing the door, and offered his hand for the basket, "Besides, waffles are eaten coated with sugar."

"The maple syrup adds the flavour, though," Matthew said offhandedly, then glanced at the Netherlands' face: slightly stormy, but hard to tell the difference.

"Any sweeteners are supposed to compliment the flavour of the waffle, not drown it out," he closed the lid to his basket, and even his bunny seemed more attentive, "I thought you would have known if you had spoke with my sister for any amount of time."

"Oh," Matthew said, surprised by the response. He supposed, in the two or so hours he had held a conversation with the man, most of it from him (Matthew thought he knew his flaws well enough, and he would admit he let his mouth run when there was finally a willing audience), this was probably the most passionately the man had spoken.

"I'll show you when you come next," the Netherlands said, scooping his Holland Lop out of his scarf to let him run around, before serving the meal Matthew had brought.

Minutes passed, then blended into hours under the pleasant weather.

The two split the last stroopwafel, the shadows on the ground much longer than Matthew thought it should be, when he realized the ferries back to England would leave very close to the time it took to bike back.

Matthew waved goodbye as he swung his legs and the basket over the bike, almost falling in the process, before his hurried ride back to the channel.

* * *

Matthew collapsed into the bed he used to use on his visits to Arthur as a colony, and more rarely, as a dominion before the wars. With a wince, he noted that the dimensions were two decades too old and that he had definitely grown since then.

"Matthew?" Arthur asked, appearing beside the doorway. Matthew hurried to sit up again, though his legs ached and he wanted to be sprawled out on the down again. "Why are you here?"

"Just visiting a friend," Matthew frowned, "Sorry, I thought I sent you a letter."

"Ah," a blush showed on Arthur's face, "Very sorry, must have been sorted into the paperwork by mistake."

Matthew nodded, although it was confusing how the custom envelopes he sent to Arthur for centuries were sorted with the manila government ones. He supposed the ones before got lost quite a lot, too.

"Anyway," Arthur continued, "There's a room more suited for your size. Alistair isn't visiting, currently, and I suppose you could take his."

"Thank you," Matthew nodded, moving to pack his things.

"No problem, I suppose," Arthur tapped his feet for a couple of seconds, before freezing it when he realised it was the only sound in the room. With a lingering glance, he started to leave.

Matthew sighed, reaching for the handles of his suitcase.

"Er," Arthur reappeared in the doorway, "Do you mind, well, not mind- do you fancy a tea tomorrow?"

Matthew fought a smile. Arthur obviously hadn't picked up picked up people skills over the last decade or so.

* * *

Matthew supposed he was getting rather good at navigating the winding path to the Netherland's house, but then again, he had never tried when it was raining. Even in the light drizzle, he decided it would be safer if he walked, only having a few more minutes to go.

He was surprised when, parked half off the road in front of the house, there was a car. He didn't think anyone in the fishing village had one. It was most probably a Dutch or Belgian model because of the inconspicuous little flag peeking out from the window, in recent use, most probably as some sort of decoration or tie. Matthew leaned his bike on the wooden walls of the house and hesitated, looking through the door.

A window beside him opened, and the wet wind blew in.

"Matthew? I almost didn't think you would come in this rain," Emma's face peeked out of the window, "Where's all your stormwear?"

"In a turn of events, it actually wasn't raining that hard in England, so I thought it would dry up in a few minutes. I guess I should have read the reports," Matthew came closer to the window so his voice wouldn't be drowned out by the falling rain.

"Well, there's nothing to do about it now, I suppose. Let me get the door for you," Emma said, before closing the window and heading away. Matthew walked to the front of the house, thankful that he had at least found a raincoat in the basket he had packed.

Emma held the door open at the front of the house, and Matthew thanked her as he walked in. He saw the Netherlands sitting at a wooden table, and waffle batter with surprisingly few splatters around the kitchen.

"I heard Lars was inviting you over for waffles, and you know, I couldn't not come. It's a serious business, and it requires an expert," Emma nodded, taking Matthew's coat and placing it on a rack, gesturing at him to sit down before going back to the stove. Matthew took the chair across from the Netherlands, and saw that he was watching his sister bake. His hand twitched every time she spilled anything, but Matthew supposed the Netherlands was nothing if not a man of constraint.

"I brought the maple syrup," he offered.

"No need, we already have the sugar, and some chocolate if you want," Emma shook her head, pouring the first waffle into the iron and coming back to sit at the table, "Now, brother, we were talking before about how you should come to the meetings."

"I shouldn't," the Netherlands said, "It has no effect on the people, or the council's decisions."

"You're supposed to reflect the country's goodwill. What do you think, say, Matthias will think when you don't show up at all?"

"It doesn't matter what he thinks," the Netherlands leaned on his forearms, flat against the table.

"You know we act as advisors to our leaders," Emma's smile wavered in the slightest, and taking her usually cheery temperament into consideration, that was a bad sign.

"Advisors, only. They have the final decision, and they also have multiple other advisors who don't look like they're barely pushing twenty five."

Emma opened her mouth, but Matthew thought it best to intervene, "Should I take out the waffle, now?"

"No," Emma looked away from her brother, "I'll get it."

Emma returned, holding a waffle, and Matthew could see the strain it took on her to not comment as he took out his bottle of maple syrup and poured it on.

"It tastes really good," Matthew nodded after taking a bite. It tasted the same as the ones at home, but Matthew supposed everything tasted that good with the syrup. Emma looked at both the men at the table, and ultimately must have decided that the conversation with her brother was very slightly more important.

"Are you coming to the next meeting, then?" Emma asked.

"No."

"You're such a stubborn-," Emma almost swore, before looking at their company and running a hand through her hair, letting out a sigh.

"We could make a compromise, maybe?" Matthew offered, knowing from experience that it was only the first step in the long and arduous process of ending an argument.

"Yes," Emma agreed, "Can you go back to your houses in the Hague or Amsterdam, at least?"

The Netherlands said nothing.

"Fine. Just meet with a nation. It doesn't even have to be for business."

"If it's not for business, why would I go?"

"To improve your relations," Emma brought her hands to the table, "And I swear to God, Lars, if you don't- I mean, maybe if you don't want to meet them as a nation, even, I wouldn't mind trying to find some time for you. Or Elias- you haven't seen him in a while."

"I'm sure he's doing fine," the Netherlands waved off.

"He's not sure if you're doing fine," Emma countered.

"And what would he do if he saw I _wasn't_ doing fine? Worry?"

"It's," Emma faltered, "It's something family likes to know. You'd want to know if I weren't dealing with things, wouldn't you?"

"It's different. I'm the older of us three; I'm the one who should be helping you two," the Netherlands took his hands off the table and sat up.

"Even if that had some truth in it, we aren't siblings, and we've lived long enough that a few hundred years blurs. You aren't my older brother, Lars. You're a nation, and we're tied together, and you just happen to have a longer history than I do."

"Tied together?" the Netherlands' eyelids fell, and the pause grew longer and longer, the ir becoming heavier.

"Just," even Emma was less energetic, now, "Just visit one nation, okay? For me?"

The Netherlands looked like he was about to argue, but, in the end, nodded.

"I'm currently boarding with Arthur. I could shield you from his cooking," Matthew offered.

"It's set then," Emma nodded, getting up to serve the next waffle, and Matthew noticed she sprinkled the sugar on it with something that resembled aggression, "Matthew can tell Arthur that you can meet in a day or two, unless he's busy?"

"He hasn't said anything," Matthew shrugged, "I think it's just the paperwork for the next week or so."

"Great," Emma smiled, handing the plate to her brother and keeping a watch on the one she was making for herself, "Lars?"

"I'll go," he replied.

* * *

"And then," Arthur fought to keep down a giggle, "And then he came back with a dead frog as a peace offering."

"Hey!" Matthew blushed, although it was uncertain whether it was from the indignation or the alcohol, "That was a traumatic experience! I thought Al was actually going to kill Francis!"

Lars laughed, and Matthew thought he liked the sound of it- deep and hearty.

"Hey, Lars," Matthew began, noticing that he had slurred the letters together in his hurry so the a sounded too short. The man would have probably given him the odd stare Matthew received sometimes- as if Lars was too polite to say anything, but in reality he just didn't care enough. After that though, Matthew promptly stopped, leaving his two drinking partners confused.

"Yes?" Lars asked.

"Uh," Matthew stalled, "What d'you, um, why is the Netherlands always so sad?"

"I'm not sad?"

"Because it's in a depression!" Matthew said, and after a brief moment to let the joke sink in, began to guffaw.

"What?" Lars looked confused, but Arthur was laughing enough for the both of them.

* * *

The next morning, with a pounding in his head, Matthew awoke to find a warm body that was definitely not Kumakichi in his bed, because for one, he had left the bear at home in the care of Alfred as a sort of revenge, and for another, because the body next to him was not covered in fur. And that was all he was willing to figure out, until the body shot up (thankfully, Matthew noticed, still clothed) and started cursing. As in actual curses.

Matthew wondered if he should be worried about his wellbeing, but he decided the foreign language was probably just Arthur speaking to his _special friends_ again.

"Good Lord," Arthur finally said, turning to Matthew, "Please tell me you're still dressed."

Matthew nodded, sitting up too and reaching for a glass of water a kind stranger had left on his side of the bed's table.

Arthur, wobbly, stood up and grimaced at the depressions their bodies had left, which very clearly pointed to the fact that he had curled up to the larger nation for the majority of the night.

Setting down his glass, Matthew realised why; there was a large window on the west side of the room, Emma had probably let the get together slip during one of her meetings with Francis, and Francis had been bragging about his camera for the last few months.

"Fucking hell," Arthur leaned on the bed he had got up from, seeming to realise the dilemma at the same time Matthew did. A few frantic glances later, he settled on, "Where'd Lars go with his hangover and the loss in the war?"

Matthew winced, imagining the headache that would cause, and wondered if they should have stopped him from drinking the last night. Arthur, landing back on the bed without any grace, took a sip of his own water. Matthew turned to put his glass away, when he noticed a note on the table, previously beneath his glass.

" _I realised that I left Goud only five days worth of food and that the ferries are far fewer tomorrow. I hope the water helps. Don't tell anyone that this ever happened,_ " Matthew read out, voice as quiet as it could go. Arthur held out his hand for the note, not hearing.

"Didn't he leave his rabbit on a field?" Arthur finally asked.

* * *

Matthew held the note, crumpled up in his pocket, with one hand, and the handles to his basket in another. The scenery passing by on the train was a blur of emerald and bluish-grey. Matthew found it boring to look at. It was better than the stares he got on the last few rides, though, both on the train and the ferry, for bringing his cycle. It wasn't much a walk to the village, at least, anyway.

The train stopped, and Matthew stood to get off. As soon as he left the station, he was greeted by the salty sea air. Matthew stood by the docks, staring across the channel as if he could see the land on the other side. His hand tightened on the basket handles as he wondered what he would say to Lars- or should it be the Netherlands?- once he saw the man.

* * *

"So, do you have any more plans to go anywhere?" Matthew asked, subtly running his fingers over the wood grain pattern.

"The deal with my sister was only one visit," the Netherlands shook his head.

"Yeah, but she might come again," Matthew replied, "She probably will if you don't visit someone on your own."

The Netherlands didn't answer, choosing to pet his rabbit instead.

"You haven't visited when I got the tulips you sent last year," Matthew began, "I'd like it if you would."

"Maybe," the Netherlands shrugged.

"It's in May, I think two weeks from now. It's a bit of a journey, but I could show you around a bit, if you want. You could maybe stay a week or so?"

"That would be nice," the Netherlands agreed.

* * *

Matthew drove to the little cabin in the middle of nowhere that he had left Alfred and Kumapuro in. With any luck, Alfred had stayed in the cabin and not wandered off.

He stepped out onto the gravel pathway and his brother came out of the house, bandage on his cheek and another on his hand.

"Mattie!" he yelled, running up in the way he often did, and Matthew, with dread, waited for the hug that was sure to follow.

In seconds, he was suffocating from the weight of his brother and too strong arms were wrapped around him, lifting him from the ground.

"Thank God you're back! Your bear was trying to eat me!" Matthew, still short of breath and still in the air, understood little of Alfred's voice. He pushed at Alfred's chest, and was promptly let go, heaving.

"I understand why," Matthew steadied himself on his car, "That's the most violent thing you've done to me since York."

"It was a show of my love," Alfred said, then, deflating a little, "And also maybe some fear. Your killer bear is still in the house."

"What did you do to him?" Matthew asked, trying to peek into the room and seeing a hunched over, furry, white figure doing nothing in particular.

"Nothing. I think it just hates me, for some reason."

"Yeah," Matthew looked skeptically at his brother, but decided to let it go. As long as Kumarosi wasn't injured, he supposed it couldn't be that bad. "Are you okay?"

"No," Alfred said.

"Just go home and get some rest, then," Matthew shrugged, walking into the cabin to collect his bear and leave.

"Hey, wait up!" Alfred caught up to Matthew, "You promised me pancakes for sitting your killing machine."

"I promised you I would rearrange Arthur's gardening drawer, nothing about food."

"Yeah," Alfred whined, "But look at all of this." He motioned to his cheek and hand, and Matthew saw a few scratches on his forearm.

"It's not my fault you did something to Kumasuri."

"Why do you always think I'm to blame, when you're _clearly_ hosting a killing machine?" Alfred whined, "Don't you trust your older brother?"

"Not really," Matthew muttered, "But I suppose you're not going to leave until you get food?"

"I love you, lil bro!" Alfred moved to hug Matthew again, and Matthew took a moment to prepare himself before the bone crushing came.

"Hey, I'm the older of the two of us!" Matthew complained, legs desperately trying to reach the ground.

* * *

"So, where were you, anyways? No one visits the Brows for no reason," Alfred sat at the table, bandages redone, a stack of pancakes and syrup in front of him, and Kumagiri set in a time out in the corner.

"Emma wanted me to visit her brother and check up on him," Matthew shrugged, stabbing his fork into his own stack, "He's going to come over for the Tulip Festival."

"The flower thing you hold every year?" Alfred asked.

"Yeah," Matthew nodded, beckoning Kumaroma over so that he could have some of the syrup.

"Hey!" Alfred glared at Kumaratu, "I thought he was in time out!"

"Don't worry," Matthew smirked, "Kuma doesn't go after weakened prey."

"Not weakened prey," Alfred muttered, stuffing another bite of the pancakes into his mouth, "Anyway, who's coming over?"

"The Netherlands," Matthew pet Kumasoju as the bear licked syrup off of his paws, "Or Holland, I suppose."

"The tall guy with the windmills?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know, man, he kept looking at me weirdly that one time we went out shopping together," Alfred frowned.

"You two went shopping together?" Matthew asked.

"Yeah, a couple of years back, when he said he wanted to see how New York was doing. The guy looked like he was about to faint when I brought him to one of the fancier restaurants."

"Maybe that was because of everything you were eating?" Matthew smiled.

"Hey! Eventually he's going to get weirded out by your maple habits, too," Alfred shot back.

"For the last time, it's not a habit, it's a way of life!"

* * *

"I'm sorry," Lars said as Matthew brought him water to drink, "It usually doesn't get this bad."

"It's okay," Matthew insisted, "Were there any large battles, or…?"

"No, just the war," Lars accepted the water and took long, cooling draughts. Matthew frowned. He knew the effects of wars, especially when nations were already in a bad state, but the reaction seemed excess if there were no battles to cause it.

"Are you sure?" Matthew asked, perching on the chair and gripping the wooden seat with his hands. Lars stayed silent. "Nations can become sick because they're disconnected from their people, you know."

Lars swished around the water in his glass.

"Do you want to visit Ottawa some other time? I mean, I'd love to see Amsterdam or the Hague." Matthew looked at Lars for an answer. His face was striped, sunlight coming through in intervals through the blinds. He had always worried for people, but he didn't know when exactly he started to care enough about Lars to be attending him bedside, or to leave his own country so often to see him.

"It's hard," Lars began, his voice quiet, "It's hard seeing them work hard rebuilding when I'm not even fully there."

"It's hard, but it feels better when you're with your people, helping them rebuild their country and themselves," Matthew leaned his elbows on his knees, "You should go back the city, at least."

"I don't want to face them, though," Lars sat up on the bed, "Their country has failed them. I've failed my citizens. Germany came through and I fell so easily. I couldn't even put up a fight for more than a week, and I couldn't even help Emma or Elias." Lars' voice crescendoed, before slowly petering out.

"Hey," Matthew smiled, "You can't fail your citizens if you _are_ your citizens."

* * *

"Where is he?" Emma came to Matthew after the meeting was adjourned, and Matthew was sure it was the first time her ire had been directed at him, "He visited you last, and now no one can find him. I went to check his residences in the countryside, and Elias looked into all of his houses in the large city, but he isn't anywhere in his country, or, at least, in any of his houses."

"He went back to his country after the tulip festival," Matthew gripped the handle of his suitcase a little tighter and smiled, "I haven't heard from him since."

Emma looked Matthew up and down, but Matthew was certain she couldn't see his lies- after centuries with the sharpest and most paranoid and most meticulous, he had at least hoped something good would come out of it. Perhaps Emma was worried, but that worked to Matthew's advantage; as soon as she was sure he hasn't done anything, she moved on to the next target, whoever that may be.

* * *

 _Matthew,_

 _I have bought a residence under my rabbit's name in Rotterdam. The city is being rebuilt after the bombings, and though it is painful to have the reminder, the city has decided to go a more modern route in rebuilding, rather than to recapture the past._

 _I've taken your advice to live with my people. Please don't disturb me unless necessary; in the case that my my siblings become too caught up in finding me, or in the case that the world meetings have something important to say about me, or my country. Please don't tell my Emma or Elias, or anyone that might tell them (your brother or Francis in particular.)_

 _Lars_

* * *

Five months later, fed up with his government worrying over whether Newfoundland and Labrador would become a province, tired of listening about Alfred worrying about the USSR, and slightly guilty for Emma and Elias, Matthew decided that Lars had spent too much time away from his government and other nations.

A quick search around Rotterdam for someone by the name of Goud van Rijn, an uncommon name to begin with, about _this_ tall and with gelled blond hair, and Matthew was directed somewhere downtown to a third story flat, with the same arrangement of flowers on the windowsill than that of Lars' countryside house.

Although the outside was shabby and left much to be desired, the inside was surprisingly clean. Matthew found himself with a cup of coffee on a slightly ripped chair that smelled of lemon cleaning detergent, Lars directly across from him, edges of his blue and white striped scarf barely touching the coffee table.

"What happened?"

"Nothing in particular," Matthew began, "But you've been away for five months after the move to Rotterdam, and I don't remember how many before the move. Nations are beginning to worry about you."

"They know I'm not dead if my country's still thriving."

"They can't gauge your opinion before they put things in action, though. Plus, your government's getting flak for not knowing where you are, and Emma and Elias are worried sick."

Lars swirled the coffee around in his cup before answering, "How much longer do you think I could stay?"

"You've already stayed too long," Matthew said, "And now there's the nightmare of how you're going to explain, well, this."

Lars stayed silent, the only sound Matthew sipping his coffee. Matthew looked outside, and the entire sky was a single shade of incredibly bright grey. He supposed some people would take their leave now, but after five months of having to deal with Lars' disappearing act, Matthew wasn't going to settle for a ten-minute meeting.

"Why did you buy your flat under the name of your rabbit?" he finally asked.

"Under the name of my rabbit that you know," Lars corrected, "It comes in handy sometimes, and it never comes into conflict. People rarely talk about someone else's pet rabbit."

"Really?" Matthew asked, "What other names do you have?"

"That would defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?" Lars smiled, thin and closed, but a smile nonetheless.

"I'm hurt by your lack of trust," Matthew joked, putting down his cup of coffee and leaning his elbows on his knees.

"Would you like a bandage?" Lars asked.

"Your information is my only bandage."

"Are you more eloquent in french than in english?"

" _Je ne sais pas ton lapin's nom, et c'est mal."_

"I don't know French."

"Oh, come on, what about Napoleon's Europe?"

"I've willfully forgotten."

"That's not good for business," Matthew pointed out.

"We have people who speak french somewhere in the country," Lars shrugged.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading, and reviews are really appreciated! Now, for the explanations!**

 **Lars would be the Netherlands, of course, and Emma would be Belgium. Elias would be Luxembourg.**

 **Translations**

 _ **Goud- Gold (Dutch)**_

 _ **Je ne sais pas ton lapin's nom, et c'est mal.- I don't know your rabbit's name, and that's bad. (French)**_

 **Notes**

 **Stroopwafles, if I understand them correctly, are two thin waffles with some sort of caramel or chocolate in them.**

 **There are a couple of references in this chapter to the Indonesian war of Independance, in which they tried to push out the Dutch (and, eventually, succeeded), but, because the main focus of this story is the lull between the Second World War and the Cold War, I tried to keep it vague. Sorry if you were looking forward to it :(**

 **References here, and probably in later chapters, to the Tulip Festival in Canada, where the King or Queen of the Netherlands sends over a million tulips in thanks for Canada housing the royal family, and just general help, during the Second World War.**

 **York: American troops burned down parts Toronto, then known as York, in the War of 1812.**

 **Again, thanks for reading, and have a nice day!**


	2. Conversations on the Barstools

"Good to see you've finally decided to come again," Francis leaned against the wooden table, his hair falling in waves, "And what a delightful place to have a first meeting. It was _very_ gracious of your sister to offer."

"It was," Lars agreed, saying nothing else before taking a sip of his beer.

"It's his first time with other nations in months, frog, don't welcome him back by hitting on his sister," Arthur glared from his side of the table.

" _Mon cher_ , it is called courting, although I'm not surprised you've never heard of it," Francis purred, leaning over to a point where Arthur, clearly uncomfortable by the proximity and loose enough from the alcohol, gave in and leaned back.

"It's called being creepy," Matthias butted into the conversation after calling the waitress for another mug.

"Excuse me," Emma called from the head of the table, "I'll be the judge of Francis' compliments, and they are just that; compliments. Albeit," Emma let out a smile, "Unwanted ones."

"You wound me!" Francis held a hand to his heart, and laughter could be heard throughout the table. Matthew, previously turning his head in tune to the argument, turned back to Lars to see how he was faring. To his surprise, the man was smiling along with the others on the table, and, supposing there was nothing else to do, Matthew laughed along with them.

* * *

Lars appeared at Matthew's door, for a change, with a bouquet of tulips in hand, arranged in different colours, types, and sizes. Striking reds sat next to calmer yellows, and a few giant tulips dwarfed the rest, giving them a quaint miniature look.

"Was the Queen a few dozen short?" Matthew asked, bemused, as he took in the arrangement and wondered how exactly one was to store them. He vaguely remembered Arthur teaching him and Alfred, but that was centuries ago.

"I suppose I should bring you something of my gratitude, as well," Lars held the bouquet, and where Matthew would expect Alfred to barge in, or Francis to ask for a kiss, or for Arthur to blush and look away, Lars just stood there, meeting Matthew's gaze as he stared.

"Thank you," Matthew took the flowers, "They mean a lot."

"So did your help," Lars' hands almost fidgeted, and that was the only sign Matthew had that, perhaps, Lars was just as nervous giving the flowers as Matthew felt receiving them.

* * *

"Trust me," Matthew said, seeing from the corner of his eye Lars' sceptic gaze, "The waffles will taste better this way." And with that, syrup began to pour out of its glass container and onto the waffles Lars had helped Matthew make. Lars cut off a piece with his fork and knife, then hesitantly took it to his mouth. Matthew watched his jaw as he chewed, and his eye when he swallowed.

Lars finally said, "Definitely worse."

"Hey," Matthew crossed his arms, though he didn't stop smiling, "They taste better after a few bites."

Lars shook his head, "This is one thing I can't trust you with."

"So your life is below your love for waffles?" Matthew asked, an eyebrow raised, but still setting aside a separate plate for Lars' syrupless waffles.

Lars nodded, sitting back down in the chair, watching with a close eye Matthew's pouring. Matthew knew his hands itched to help, but as a host, it was Matthew's duty to serve, even if it meant the blasphemy of doing so without syrup.

That night, Matthew awoke to a rumbling in his house. Armed only Kumachiyo and a stick, _Monsieur B_ _âton,_ Matthew stumbled into his kitchen to see Lars, pouring maple syrup over a bowl of vanilla ice cream.

* * *

The bedside phone rung, and Matthew groaned, turning to the other side of his bed, looking at the telephone, and realising he didn't have the energy to listen to one of Alfred's crazy schemes again. He snuggled back up to Kumahiro, preparing to go back to sleep. Usually, when Alfred had a 'genius' plan in the middle of the night, he would try call Matthew, then Arthur, then Francis, and Matthew didn't even want to know how many people he got through before Berwald showed up one day at the world meeting, sleepless and grumbling about a robot made out of comic books.

But the phone rang again, and Matthew, even in his half asleep state, realised that maybe Alfred had a good reason this time, and, grudgingly, picked up the phone.

"Al?" he asked, stroking the fur on Kumamari's head in an attempt to calm the disturbed bear.

" _Nee_ ," Matthew heard a voice much deeper than his brother's on the other line, "Today is the anniversary. May 10th. Emma said I should have someone with me so I don't end up doing anything stupid."

"Lars?" Matthew asked, and heard an affirmative, "What time is it in the Netherlands?"

"Six in the morning," Lars answered, "I'm sorry if I woke you, I thought, since it was only midnight…"

"No," Matthew sighed, "No, it's okay. It's just, well, it is a long flight to the Netherlands."

"You could be here by around four; you don't need any reservations and I have extra clothes," Lars paused, and Matthew thought he could hear birds chirping in the background, just waking up for the day, "But, if it's too much trouble, I could just ask Arthur or Matthias."

"No," Matthew shook his head, sitting up and beginning to wake, "I can come. I'll see you in twelve or fourteen hours, I guess."

"Thank you."

"It's just what friends do, right?" Matthew smiled, yawning into his hand right after.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, before, "Yeah. Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

Matthew cut the line, and allowed himself a few minutes on his soft pillows, feeling Kumamiku's warmth acutely, now that it would soon be lost. He supposed it would be a couple of calls to his government, explaining that something had come up in the Netherlands, and maybe a visit to London, if his boss allowed him the time off. As he closed his eyes, Matthew saw a tired man with greasy hair and a weak smile, juxtaposed by another image of a Renaissance master, one towering above him, full of experience and soft words.

Perhaps he would pay a visit to Paris, too.

* * *

As things went, Matthew showed up at a sizable farmhouse right outside of Amsterdam at four in the afternoon, still slightly sleep deprived and ready for company that wasn't agitated at having to share the small body of an airplane for hours on end. Lars was at the door as soon as he knocked.

"How was the flight?" Lars asked, taking one of Matthew's suitcases and ushering him in.

"That entire bag," Matthew pointed to the suitcase in Lars' hands, "Is paperwork."

"Oh."

"Yeah," Matthew followed Lars in and collapsed on one of his wooden chairs, wishing Lars had led him to somewhere with a couch, or even a bed.

"Are you good to go out tonight?" Lars took in Matthew's appearance, rubbing at dark circles under his eyes.

"Yeah," Matthew nodded, removing his hands from his head, "I mean, that's the entire reason I took the flight. Plus, I could use a drink."

"Hm," Lars took out some bread, slicing it up with meat to create a makeshift lunch, "Are you going back after today?"

"No. I'm planning to go to Arthur's mansion outside of London, then to Francis' Paris mansion, where I think he'll be. You know," Matthew yawned, "It's much easier to visit people when they don't change their address every week."

Lars shrugged as he brought Matthew his sandwich, "If I bought these houses all over the country, I need to use them."

Matthew smiled into his lunch, hoping Lars couldn't see, "Do you want to join me?"

"There are still too many things to do at home," Lars shook his head.

* * *

The sky was completely clear as they went out in the evening, painted with broad strokes of reds and oranges. The buzz of the upcoming summer was audible, but just barely, on the country road.

"It feels like I have an obligation to my people to mourn with them," Lars broke the quiet, his voice thunder compared to the background, "And I do. Even though Emma and Elias are fine, the soldiers who fought and didn't come back- I felt their loss too."

"Yeah," Matthew saw the outline of buildings as they got closer to the small town, and farther away from the city, "It feels odd to compare the bonds between nations to the bonds between nations and their people, though."

"It's a messy comparison that needs to be made."

* * *

"I knew my people were dying, and it hurt, like part of me was dying, and it kept getting worse and worse," Lars took a deep breath, "And everything started to blur together. After the men who died in the invasion, it was the Jewish who died in the camps- even five hundred miles away, even when a thought of their country probably didn't even cross their minds, and in hate, if it did. They were still mine, and they were still dying."

Matthew looked around the establishment, and saw that everyone else was either in a similar state or trying to drink themselves to unconsciousness. He hoped no one would pay too much attention to the two men in a secluded corner.

"They're safe now," Matthew offered, "And that's all that matters, right? I mean, that's how we get over wars, or rather, that's how we have to."

"Yeah. But you know what the worst thing was? I began to worry, not about my people, but about Emma and Elias," Lars jerked his head to a man whose back was facing both of them, "I could tell if he died for me, I guess. I would feel it, but I wouldn't be able to tell it was him. I wouldn't be able to tell what he was like when he was too small, and didn't even know how to begin to speak any of his three languages, or when he was so upset that he couldn't protect his sister, because he hadn't understood what _we_ were. I couldn't tell you anything other than the fact he was Dutch."

"It'd be hard to remember that about a few million people," Matthew replied.

"I think you should remember _something_ about the people willing to die for you. Instead, it's just nations you remember," Lars sighed, "I know it's important, but-"

"It's funny," Matthew interrupted, "How being a nation so often makes you hate people so wholeheartedly, but then you still worry for them, once the hate disappears."

"I find it fucking awful," Lars replied, more than willing to change the subject. Matthew stifled a laugh, glancing the room again and feeling its oppressive nature. He glanced back at Lars, seeing the tears gathering in his eyes. He knew what it felt like; he had mourned before, and, though he wanted to slip in and join the country, it would do no good for both of them to wake up, tear stained cheeks pressed against the hard table at the first rays of dawn.

"Lars," Matthew finally said, unsure whether or not to ask the next question, "Did your sister really tell you to find someone tonight?"

Lars looked up, his cheeks pink, although he didn't seem to notice, "No. I'm sorry I lied to you, but I would do it again."

"You don't need to."

There was silence, but the night was young, and Matthew was intent on listening to Lars if he needed to vent. He stood to go to the counter and bring another drink, and he could feel Lars' eyes on him as he left. They weren't accusatory, or lecherous, or condescending. It was a welcome relief, that when he turned back, Lars was simply pensive.

* * *

Matthew left Lars' cottage much in the same way Lars had left Arthur's mansion; he left a glass of water and a letter, saying in two lines where he would be and that he would be willing to come again for another night of drinking, especially under less miserable circumstances.

He started the walk to Amsterdam with the intention of finding a phone booth and calling parliament to book him a ticket to Rouen, deciding to visit Francis first after Lars had let it slip, in quite a grand comedy, where he was. Relations between them, still growing and recovering after everything that had happened, aside, Matthew was fully intent on teasing his _grand frère_ about getting caught in the act, by Alfred of all people.

* * *

"The cathedral is still beautiful, isn't it?" Francis asked, arm around Matthew in a way he had become unused to since being handed over to Arthur.

"It is," Matthew appreciated the looming face, grand, yet delicate and detailed, and he could imagine why so many photographers were from France. He turned back to his guest for the umpteentht time that day. It was another little check that a voice in his head insisted that he had to do. No matter how poetic Francis was, or how confidant he acted, Matthew was still scared to turn around and see blank eyes on his face.

"You seem anxious," Francis ushered Matthew to the side of the road, into a more secluded and quiet area, "There is much history and many sights to see in Rouen, beautiful and tragic, but I've taken you to see most of them before. We could just spend time at my home, how do you say, eh?"

Matthew smiled at Francis' attempt, and then back at the streets. Francis was right, they had both toured the city before, and Matthew knew almost everything about it up to the Renaissance from Francis' stories. He could learn about the last four hundred years some other time, when his feet weren't aching, or when the memory of the occupation wasn't as fresh.

"That seems like a good idea," Matthew nodded, and Francis began to talk about the food he would prepare. He asked if Matthew could still taste it after being subjected to England's cuisine, and Matthew just rolled his eyes in response.

* * *

"Are you planning to stay for a couple of weeks, _mon petit ours_?" Francis asked over the soup he had made.

"A day or two more, maybe, before I'll visit London. _Mon grande coq,"_ Matthew answered.

"Point taken," Francis chuckled, "But what will you do in London?"

"I suppose the question is really what will I do to keep myself from going back to my office," Matthew sighed, "Arthur is always willing to drag any of his former colonies on a day trip somewhere. After that, I might visit Emma, or maybe Alistair."

"Ah. Although it would be nice if you could stay," Francis took a sip with his silver spoon. "I would have yelled at you for going to England when you were small, do you remember? How times have changed."

"You would have yelled at me a couple of years ago," Matthew raised a brow.

"Ah, I suppose if I could," Francis waved his hand dismissively, and Matthew couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit hurt that that was all the separation warranted. "But anyway, you should come visit more often. Lots of things to see, and I like showing you around."

Matthew smiled tightly as he remembered the same exact words he had said to Francis hundreds of years ago. A million things wanted to rush out of his mouth, but in the end, it was only a strangled, "Yeah."

* * *

 _Francis,_

 _It's been a pleasure seeing you, and I hope to come again. I'm off to London, I guess, but you can come to Canada any time. I'd like to repay the favour._

 _Matthew_

In a habit that Matthew thought he was indulging in much too often, he left before Francis awoke.

* * *

"Mattie?" Alfred's voice came through the phone at Arthur's house. Surprising, considering Matthew hadn't even told his brother where he would be.

"Yes?" Matthew asked, glancing over to Arthur who was trying, and failing, to make a meal.

"Where are you now?"

"London?" Matthew answered.

"Mind coming to Vienna?"

"Yes."

"Oh, come on, Mattie, Feli said I could visit for pasta when I was around the country. I just need you there for a couple of hours," Alfred spoke, and Matthew could hear a faint grumbling in the background.

"Why do you need me?"

"Arthur will kill me if he finds out," Alfred whispered, though in his voice, it was still too loud,

"Arthur's in the same room as me, making breakfast," Matthew pointed out.

"Shhhh. Just come to Vienna and I'll forgive you for making me sit your killing machine."

"I already did what you wanted and gave you food," Matthew sighed, "Just get me something from Italy and we'll be even."

"Deal. Just go to the airport, I've already bought you the tickets," before Matthew could respond, Alfred had hung up.

* * *

Matthew sat in a chair in the lounge as Austria played a sonata, one he was sure someone had forced him to listen to when he was young, but Matthew couldn't remember who it was who played it to him, nor the name of the piece. Nonetheless, it was beautiful, if sad.

As the song continued, and then another began, Matthew began to drift off in the chair, nothing to do. He understood why Alfred would rather leave to Italy than stay in Austria, but the view of the alps, framed by the large and ornate window, combined with the soothing notes and the soft cushion of the chair-

The music stopped, in the middle of what Matthew could tell was a measure.

"Austria?" Matthew asked, reopening his eyes and sitting up to the scene of the musician grasping at his midsection, "What's wrong?"

"The hunger," he replied. Matthew stood up and walked over to the man, helping Roderich onto the chair. Matthew then sat at the piano, knowing that food wouldn't help if the population was starving, and the only way to help was to distract. He ran through his mind to think of any melodies he knew, finally settling on _Chopsticks_ as the only one he could play correctly. His fingers tried to find the correct notes, although they went on too long, and the rhythm, although it faltered at moments, and Matthew found himself wondering how long it was since he was forced to take the piano lessons.

"Please stop," Austria croaked, "It hurts more than the hunger- the possibility that you could break my piano."

"I, I mean, I wasn't going to break it," Matthew protested, although he did get up and leave the piano, "I'm sorry."

"No," Austria sighed, "At least you weren't trying to break it. Just get me the painkillers."

"I'm sorry," Matthew sat down on one of the other chairs, which seemed to be much less used and soft, "You ran out."

"Do you think I care? Go buy me more, then." Austria snapped.

"It's not like painkillers are easy to find when people are fighting for basic food," Matthew reminded the man, who faltered for a second.

"I need them," Austria replied, much quieter, almost begging.

"It's not going to help in the long term."

"Neither is the occupation, or the food shortage, or the monopoly Russia is holding," Austria looked up, and Matthew could see that it was taking effort to even be angry, "Why aren't you doing something about that?"

"I'm sorry, okay? But we have so many things to finish, and-"

"Your apologies won't help either," Austria interrupted.

The room lapsed into quiet, and Matthew missed the sweet and slow piano music.

"Do you want help to get to the bedroom?" Matthew finally asked.

"I used to be an empire," Austria said, his voice hollow, "I'm sure I can make it down the hall."

He stood, hobbling to the hall that led out of the lounge, and Matthew walked behind him, resisting the urge to help him along as he leaned against the wall.

* * *

Matthew knocked on the door of the cottage, hoping Lars was still there. Thankfully, he opened the door, and Matthew held up a bag of nut brittle.

"Alfred also brought spaghetti back," Matthew said, noticing Lars' raised brow, "But it didn't last the trip."

"That brings up more questions than it answers," Lars said, but he let Matthew in regardless.

"I went to France, and then to Austria at Al's request, because he wanted to go to Italy. He brought food back."

"Bad visits?"

Matthew nodded, putting the packet on the table and sighing, "And you were the closest person who I was sure would agree to a night out."

* * *

"This isn't what I meant when I said a night out," Matthew ripped off a piece of bread anyway.

"Alfred and Arthur liked it," Lars shrugged, throwing a piece of bread to the harlequin ducks in the pond.

"It's not bad," Matthew shrugged, throwing another piece. The bread sailed through the air, before promptly hitting the duck straight on the beak. "Sorry."

"The duck will eat it anyway," Lars shrugged, and, true to his word, the duck dived for the soggy bread. "How were your trips?"

"I called Francis a cock and Austria almost keeled over from hunger."

"Hmm," Lars looked out at the faint twilight reflected on the pond, "Your visits here are never that eventful."

"Be thankful they aren't," Matthew tossed another piece of bread, this time, not causing any duck-related injuries. "The trip to France could have been worse, I guess, I mean, I got a bit worried and we had to stop the sight-seeing short, but it's not like the art museums were my main focus in Paris."

"What was?" Lars prompted. A lot of things could be said about Lars' conversation skills, but his listening, at least, was a strong point.

"Francis, I guess. But I didn't know how to start with him. Like, 'I'm sorry you lost me in a war to your greatest rival and called me _a few desolate acres of snow,_ but I'm willing to make up?"

"If you hated him so much, you wouldn't have visited."

"Yeah," Matthew absentmindedly moulded the bread in his hands, "I mean, it was a war, I guess, and he had no choice. It's just, what do you say when the man who you've looked up to for a couple hundred years is hit harder than you are?"

"In my experience, you stop looking up to them. You're taller than him, anyway."

"Do you, o lofty one, look down on everyone, then?"

Lars nodded, throwing another piece of bread, the barest hint of a smile on his face.

* * *

"It's a bit of a downer to end the history tour on, I know," Matthew looked back to Lars, tearing his eyes from the war memorial, "But it's an important part of my history, nonetheless."

"I see," Lars answered, staring at the monument, the black soldiers stationed on it and the overreaching arch, "It's important to remember, yes."

" _Je me souviens._ It's the motto of Quebec."

"I'm guessing it's in French?"

"I remember," Matthew laughed, "Sorry."

"Oh," Lars turned away from the memorial, and Matthew followed. Though the monument was striking, both aesthetically and emotionally, this was supposed to be a light trip, and Matthew thought there was enough talk about the wars past and the ones to come with his fellow nations.

"I guess that brings us up to date," Matthew stopped to the side of the street and opened his map so Lars could see, "Now we have the next four days to look at the nature, maybe, or just the culture. You're a bit too early for the Ex, but the Stampede's happening now. It's a long way west, though."

Matthew looked back at Lars to make sure he understood, and saw Lar's eyes wandering around the map.

"It'll take a while to get there, a few hours by plane and a few days by car, so maybe we should just stay here. You could visit around the west coast, or the maritime provinces, or the plains, next time."

"I feel like we could get my entire country done, with a lot more to do, in one of these trips," Lars stepped into the shade, "We could spend a month on the history alone."

"Nothing to do, I guess," Matthew shrugged, "Everything here's a bit spaced out. We could go down and visit Al's east coast, if you want. He's always willing to show people around."

"No," Lars shook his head, "Some quiet would be nice."

"Is that your way of telling me to stop talking?" Matthew grinned, and then elbowed Lars when he wouldn't answer.

"Come on, we can go to a cafe somewhere around here, if you want."

* * *

Sat down at a table for two at a quaint coffee shop, Matthew opened his map once more, nudging aside his pastry and ice tea.

"I guess, since we've run out of history, we could just go hiking," Matthew offered.

"In this heat?" Lars took another sip of his coffee, "Where's all of your ice and snow gone?"

"It migrates north for the summer, like geese," Matthew answered.

"How nice," Lars leaned on his elbows to get a better view of the table, "Couldn't we go to one of your museums?"

"There's the national currency museum," Matthew offered.

"That'll be first on our list," Lars nodded.

* * *

Lars yawned as he collapsed on the couch, watching as Matthew took out two bowls and a tub of ice cream.

"Have you watched _The Great Dictator_?" Matthew asked, "A theatre nearby plays it again once in a while, and I think they're showing it tonight."

"I've heard of it," Lars leaned his head on the cushions of the sofa, closing his eyes.

"Do you want to see it?" Matthew came closer to the living room table, setting one of the bowls down in front of his guest. Lars didn't answer. "It's always good to laugh at history, you know? It takes away some of the pain."

"It's based around a caricature of the man who haunted my country for five years," Lars barely opened his eyes, "It's too soon, don't you think?"

"It'll always be too soon, if you think about it like that."

* * *

Three or four hours later, Lars and Matthew stumbled back into the property, too tired to stay out any longer and too awake to go to sleep. So, much like Matthew had spent most of his sleepless nights as far as he could remember, he led Lars to two chairs in front of the fireplace. Matthew sighed as he sank into the cushions, leather moulding around his body. His eyes closed, but his foot still tapped on the hardwood floor.

"I feel like I don't have much to show you around here," Matthew frowned, his eyes slits as they stared at Lars, "I'm sorry, but I don't really know much about what it was like before Arthur or Francis showed up, and even then, they'd probably be able to tell it more eloquently. History's kind of a blank before that."

"Emma or I couldn't tell you much of what happened before Romulus came," Lars answered, voice even lower and more relaxed than it usually was, "Everyone I can think of was governed at the hands of another nation for their first few years. In fact, I'm hard pressed to think about anyone today who was brought up by their people, instead of another nation.."

"China," Matthew said.

"Ask him, and I'm sure he can point to someone who raised him," Lars grinned, "And then he'll spend days on end telling you what it was like, and what all the Kingdoms and Empires were."

"I take it you made the mistake yourself?"

"I asked Kiku, well, Japan, which I'd almost say was a worst mistake."

"Hm," Matthew stretched out his legs, feeling the warm embrace of sleep coming on, but not wanting to leave his seat, "I almost feel bad for him in a way. It must hurt to live that long."

"History has its horrors, like a few years ago, but there are brighter times, too. I wouldn't want to go back to them, but there are things I miss," Lars replied, "I don't much want to be here, now, either, but I'm sure the future is brighter. It always is."

"I don't mean as a nation," Matthew tried to shake his head, but in the end, it stopped halfway through, one pink cheek facing the air and the other pressed against the sofa. "I mean, as people. It's pretty hard."

"Yeah," Lars' eyes were closed and his hair mussed against the back of the sofa, "But we've already seen we can't die."

* * *

The day Matthew saw Lars off at the airport, he walked back to his house, laid his body down on the grass, and looked up to the tree shading his view. The wind blowing through his hair and his face towards the green canopy, Matthew could almost pretend that he was waiting for the next group of merchants or traders to come in so he could listen to the stories they told, or that Francis or Arthur were back in the house, taking care of his paperwork and citizen's complaints so he could walk around and appreciate the city.

Then again, neither of his brothers were running a country in Canada; rather, they were running a colony.

* * *

"We never managed to take a trip to Wales," Arthur complained, hands possessively around the handle of his mug, "The sheepshagger got mad. He was looking forward to someone else visiting, apparently."

"Are you sure he isn't mad because you called him a sheepshagger?" Matthew teased.

"It's said with the utmost affection."

"Ah, this is why you are so alone, _mon lapin_ ," Francis shook his head, "Almost two millennia old and still so lacking in culture."

"Shut it, frog."

"Someone's sensitive," Matthias grinned, before Lukas glared at him in a way that Matthew was sure must have physically hurt.

" _Matthieu_ has a point, does he not?"

"Huh?" Matthew looked away from his conversation with Emma and Lars. For once, he thought he could have just gone unnoticed from the fight between his brothers. Just his luck that was the only time he couldn't disappear.

"Eh, not you," Francis said, before his realising what his words sounded like, "Though I'm sure you have many great points within you, _mon ours_."

"Smooth," Emma commented from behind Matthew.

"Now who's lacking in culture?" Arthur prodded the embarrassed man.

"Just get me another wine," Francis sighed, turning to Romano, who held the burden of hosting. After a few choice words, the Italian complied, leaving the table.

"Uh, guys," Alfred called from his place next to Matthias, "Be careful with the drinking. You know, we have some important things to talk about tomorrow."

The banter in the table stopped, even Arthur and Francis turning away from each other at the reminder.

"That's hours from now, though," Matthias grinned, waving the matter away with his hand, "Drinks on me, everyone!"

And with that, the table continued. Matthew took one last sweeping glance at the table; the various nations bickering and teasing each other, some interested but silent, others silent in sleep, and he couldn't remember a night out that wasn't as rowdy as the one in front of him. Truly, he couldn't imagine a night out that wouldn't be as rowdy.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks again for reading, and, as always, reviews are appreciated! Now, for even longer explanations.**

 **Translations**

 _ **Monsieur B**_ _ **âton- Mister Stick (French)**_

 _ **Nee- No (Dutch)**_

 _ **Grand frère- Big brother (French)**_

 _ **Mon petit ours- My little bear (French)**_

 _ **Mon grande coq- My big rooster**_

 _ **Mon lapin- My rabbit (French)**_

 **Notes**

 **May 10th is the day Nazi Germany invaded the Netherlands, Belgium, and Luxembourg.**

 **On a lighter note, if you're wondering why exactly Matthew decided on** ' _ **mon grande coq',**_ **the national animal of France is the Gallic Rooster.**

 **The reason Austria isn't faring very well is that it was split up between all the Allies, none of which gave the Austrians more than the bare minimum of food, which was understandable, as they themselves had to work hard to recover and keep everyone fed. As for the monopoly, the USSR held a lot of the factories in their partition of Austria, and the companies were working more to the benefit of the USSR than Austria.**

 _ **A few desolate acres of snow-**_ **from Voltaire, a french enlightenment writer, who had some less than flattering opinions of French North America, including Canada. I think, though Francis wouldn't call him anything like that, the fact that some french people had that opinion would hurt a young Canada.**

 **The Ex and the Stampede are festivals, I guess you would call them, in Edmonton and Calgary, Alberta.**

 _ **The Great Dictator**_ **is a film made by Charlie Chaplin right before the Second World War picked up, making caricatures of both Adolph Hitler and Benito Mussolini.**


	3. Glimpses of Tomorrow

"As you all know," Alfred paused, eyes sifting through the crowd, until he found Matthew. They hooked onto him briefly before tearing himself away from the comforting gaze of his brother to the nations lined up on the table. Matthew took a moment to just look at his brother, to see how he handled having the world's eyes on him with such rapt attention- how he handled the spotlight that was placed on him all too sudden.

"As you all know, North Korea has just invaded South Korea, with the help of the People's Republic of China and the USSR. Your bosses may have already had a word with you, however brief, or maybe you heard from your people, but it's true, unfortunately. We're currently gathering arms to send aid to South Korea, and the deals have already been set in stone, but we need to know how the nations feel, or, more importantly, the general consensus of the following countries: Belgium, Canada, Denmark, France, Iceland, Italy, Luxembourg, the Netherlands, Norway, Portugal, and the United Kingdom."

He was handling it remarkably well, Matthew knowing all Alfred wanted to do was to join his own men planning and fighting. Still, he seemed almost out of breath by the end of it.

"Aye," Emma started, her voice ringing clear in the silent room.

"Aye," Matthew echoed, then Matthias and Francis, and soon the entire table had agreed.

"Okay," Alfred seemed relieved he wouldn't have to argue anything for this point, at least, "Now, as some of you might have noticed, we have a guest who isn't part of this meeting. Japan is here to describe South Korea, uh, Im Yong Soo, who is fighting with his people, in case we need to identify him. Please give him your full attention."

Matthew turned to look at the figure, and just like his, the faces of most people around him were stony, wounds Japan had helped inflict still too raw. Lars and Arthur, though, whose faces were always looking worn and weary in some way, had no light in them whatsoever. Japan looked back at all of them, face too neutral to truly be called haughty.

"South Korea, name Im Yong Soo, is reasonably tall, around 5'9''. He has dark brown hair and a curl, representing some part of his half of the peninsula. He will usually be cheerful and sociable, or sullen. If he seems angry or pensive, make sure you are in Allied territory," Japan, remarkably, didn't change his expression once, "He makes claims that he created many things, and is often childlike, though serious in battle. Please approach him with a calm demeanor."

"Uh, yes," Alfred drew the attention back to himself, and Japan sat down, chair screeching as it was pulled in, "So, if you ever see him in the field, make sure to talk to him. He's a bit torn up and might not really, you know, get what's happening. Hell, I was pretty torn up during my civil war," Alfred let out a nervous laugh, though only Matthew smiled to encourage him, "Um, any questions, then?"

* * *

"They're healing well enough," Japan nodded to Lars and Arthur, while Matthew leaned against the wall, "Most of the actual burning is just a scar now, and even the illness barely shows anymore."

"That's good," Arthur cleared his throat, "And are you coming to the world meeting here, tomorrow?"

"Ah, no, Arthur-san," Japan smiled apologetically, the first time Matthew had seen emotion, other than anger and pain, on his face since the war, "My delegates will be there, but I will have to go back to my people."

"I see," Arthur nodded, and behind him, Lars tipped his chin in the slightest.

* * *

"I don't like it," Matthew said, leaning almost too close for comfort to Lars to keep the conversation between them. Arthur and Japan, on the other side of the table, were talking about something that had them both red and laughing. Matthew didn't want to take the moment away.

"We're still rebuilding from one war and now we're thrown into another."

"It's either fight for Korea today, or for Europe tomorrow," Lars recited the words Arthur had used to rile everyone up a couple of days ago.

"I have the sinking feeling we're going to be fighting for both either way," Matthew sighed, waving over a server to ask for more drinks, and for someone to clean up the glass of spilled drink on the tablecloth.

* * *

Matthew sat next to his fellow NATO members and allies, staring down at the Warsaw Pact, with an assortment of neutral nations in the middle.

"It's horrible," Alfred whispered to Arthur and Matthew, on the right and left hand sides of him, "All of them look miserable."

Matthew surveyed the opposite end of the table, along with the rest of his allies. The members of the Pact, unlike their counterparts, had their hair carefully combed and their clothes carefully positioned. Bruises and cuts, however, still peaked out from under the obstacles

"None of us look happy to be here, either," Arthur shrugged.

"Time to quiet down, Fredka, Artur," Ivan's voice boomed through the room, "You two were calling to discuss something, and there has been no discussion so far?"

"Yeah, the invasion of South Korea," Alfred stood, to the surprise, or, in some cases, annoyance, of everyone around him.

"Sit down," Arthur hissed, "This is supposed to be a civilised discussion."

Looking to Arthur, with hesitation, Alfred sat down, but the venom in his voice didn't disappear.

"We're here to talk about the invasion of South Korea by North Korean, Soviet, and Chinese forces," he reiterated, "And the counter attack we will be planning."

"Oh no, America," Russia smiled, face splitting with its size, "Do not use a term such as _invasion._ I was simply solving a problem. The two states must be reunited, yes?"

"Not forcefully, and not as communist," Alfred growled, both Matthew and Arthur reaching for his knees and trying to calm him down, "Especially not as communist."

"Now, I thought we could sort something out that we could tell our bosses, and we could have this whole thing over with," a shadow passed over Russia's face, "But obviously, we have a few differences that block the alliance forged by the _Great Patriotic War._ "

Russia stood, and like puppets on a string, the line of nations, from Poland at the far right to Belarus at the far left, stood up with him.

"It is a shame, Amerika, that this difference will be solved with blood."

* * *

 _Lars,_

 _I hope you still frequent this apartment. It's the only address of yours I have, or, rather, the only one I remember, and of course it's under your Lop's name. The conditions here aren't good, and the North seems to have the advantage, for now. Lord, I wish Alfred didn't make us tag along for the morale boost. As much as it may help, I miss home, and I doubt Al will let us out for more than a few weeks time._

 _Matthew_

 _Lars,_

 _I thought you toured all your residences, but either it's taking a long time, or you own half of the Netherlands' property. Well, technically, you own all of it, but, you know what I was getting at. Anyway, I'm sure you've heard the news, but things really aren't going well. To Al's surprise, morale's at an all time low, even though I'm here with Arthur, Sam, and Jack. I mean, at some point, everyone figured out this battle won't end the war, and there are many more to come. It doesn't help that we're loosing._

 _At home, the maple trees would have been changing colour now. I'm going to ask Al for another break as soon as the situation gets better. Or, as soon as we lose._

 _Matthew_

 _Lars_

 _There better be a good reason you're not responding, or I'm not inviting you over for drinks anymore._

 _Okay, we both know that's not true. You're the only one who doesn't start monologuing about heroes or pirates or how horrible the alcohol they're drinking is._

 _The reason the paper's not stained, by the way, is that I'm finally back in my own country. The lightheadedness is gone too, which is a relief. Honestly, I think that's the entire reason Al even lets us leave. He must feel, long story short, not good. Im Yong Soo looks worse, though, which is to be expected, I guess. Al's trying to help him as much as he can, and sometimes, I wonder if after the war, he's going to be hell-bent on his heroism and still stay._

 _Matthew_

 _Lars_

 _Well, I guess we've got done what we're supposed to do. Yong Soo looks better, anyway, but Al really wanted to win that war, and for a good reason. A tie's still better than a loss, though, and everyone's ready to move on, if with a little bit more of patching up_

 _I'm visiting, after a few hellish hours of paperwork, and all your letters better have been caught up in the mailing system._

 _Matthew_

* * *

"There's a pile of letters the height of your desk," Matthew glared at Lars.

"I didn't notice," Lars shrugged.

"Like hell you didn't notice. You honestly never even opened them?" Matthew picked up one of the letters to check the cheap envelope it was sent in. Perfectly in tact, as though it was still sat on the rickety table at the military camp.

"I knew I'd have to write back if I opened them. I'm busy. The cost of stamps is too high"

"That's the worst excuse I've ever heard," Matthew crossed his arms, before thinking back to Arthur's 'lost in the paperwork.' "Well, the second worst. What have you been so busy with, anyway?"

"I met with the government a couple of times," Lars shrugged, taking a seat on his tabletop, "But mostly here with the people."

"It's been eight years since the war ended. We need to get back to normal sometime."

"Things will never be normal like they were before."

"I don't mean the technology or the Cold War," Matthew shook his head, "I mean you actually leaving the country."

"I never left the country, or, empire, much, anyways."

* * *

"I don't feel like I should be here," Lars looked uneasily at the crowd, drinks sloshing in their cups and too wide smiles on their faces, "I didn't help much, if you hadn't noticed."

"Nonsense," Matthew leaned his elbows farther onto the wooden table, "Your men helped, and that's enough. Hell, half of the nations here weren't there, either."

"I suppose," Lars put his chin in his hand, watching the scene with lazy eyes. His eyes widened in recognition, and Matthew turned to see what he was staring at. There, he saw the frightening sight of Emma, and he swore he could hear her steps echoing through all the bustle.

"You," Emma's hands came down on the table with much more force than Matthew thought she even had, "Both of you, actually, and I don't know who to yell at first!"

"Yell at Matthew second, after he has a few drinks, so that he doesn't remembers," Lars offered, nonchalant in the face of his sister.

"You always were too blunt," Emma shook her head, mumbling, before raising her voice, "At least when you were there. I didn't say anything about your disappearing act because I thought, hey, a couple of years would pass, and then you would apologize. You see how generous I was being? Not weeks, or months, but _years._ I suppose you want a couple of decades?"

" _Désolé, sœur,"_ Lars replied.

"Don't even try French with me," Emma took her hands away from the table and crossed them around her chest, "I know those are the only two words you bothered learning."

"That's not true," Lars leaned lower on the table, " _Bonjour._ "

"Not funny," Emma sharpened her eyes, before turning to Matthew, "And you, how could you just not tell us where he was? A, in his words, _little eagle,_ told me that you had his address and knew where he was."

"Oh," Matthew simply said, knowing full well who the _little eagle_ was, " _Désolé, belle."_

"No. I will not take that from you. Do you know what it's like to lose a brother, to know he might be there but not being sure, not knowing if he's even dead or alive?" Emma started, and then, with wide eyes, stopped. Her hands uncrossed, "No, wrong choice of words-"

"I do know," Matthew said, sitting a bit straighter in his chair, "I do know, and I think we all do."

"Nevertheless," Emma gained back her confidence, "Then, we all know it isn't the best feeling in the world. Next time, tell me," her eyes softened, before she turned back to her brother, "And if there is a next time, _broer,_ there will be hell to pay."

* * *

"Matvey!" Russia's cheerful voice came from behind Matthew, and he almost cursed himself for not agreeing to take coffee with his brother and Francis. "How are you doing? I heard you were touring the battlefields in Korea. It was very brave of you~."

Matthew turned around, feet taking action where his brain didn't want to. "Thank you, er, Russia." As much as he had a need to punch the larger man in the face (blame the popular opinion of his people), he knew that even if he didn't mind the swollen cheek and black eye that would come out somewhere in the scuffle, it was always best to keep under the radar with Russia.

"No problem, no problem," Ivan seemed to lean down a little, even though Matthew knew the height difference between them was barely anything, "Now, how was Alfred during the trip?"

 _Very happy when your invasion failed,_ Matthew wanted to say.

"Oh, you know how he is, loud and cheerful," Matthew didn't even try with his laugh, and it came out like a goat's bleat, rather than any noise coming from a human. Russia didn't seem to notice.

"Ah, then-"

"Matthew?" Arthur called out, waving and coming closer to the duo. "Quick, we have tea to go to, remember?"

"Hello, Artur," Russia turned to Arthur, face darkening in the slightest, "We were having a nice conversation, and I hate it when people interrupt."

"Ah, sorry, my lad," Russia bristled at the name, "But tea is very important to the British, you do understand?"

"And conversation is very important to the Russians, _da_?"

"I'm sure you could have a conversation with one of your Baltics. Well, if they hadn't run away yet."

The hallway sat in silence, both Matthew and Russia staring at Arthur, who simply nodded.

"Now, tea, Matthew?"

"Actually, I'd like to have a word with you," Russia put a hand on Arthur's shoulder as he turned to leave.

"A shame. I don't really want to have one with you," and with the most passive-aggressive shrug Matthew had seen, Russia's hand had no choice but to fall off Arthur's shoulder.

* * *

"Are you sure that was the best course of action?" Matthew asked, glancing back to the building they had left.

"He won't do anything to us as long as we're siding with Alfred," Arthur shook his head, navigating the streets of Rome as if he'd been there a thousand times, "Now, would you like some tea or not? There's only one good place around here that doesn't smell like a giant cup of coffee."

"How do you know that?" Matthew stopped abruptly behind Arthur as they reached the crossing.

"I've been there before?" Arthur turned to his former charge.

"No, I mean, about Russia not coming after us, or, more likely, you."

Cars lined the Italian road with little space in between them, and, with a sweeping glance, Matthew missed the less busy streets of his more sparsely populated provinces.

"That's the way nations work." Matthew's attention was brought back to the conversation, "Don't you remember all of those times you climbed on Portugal and pulled his cheeks?" Arthur asked, smiling as if it were a fond memory.

"No, Arthur, I don't think that was me."

"Gave Spain a black eye?"

"Also Alfred," Matthew shook his head.

"Fiddled with Austria's piano strings?"

"Uh," Matthew thought back to the time he had snuck into the Tyrolean mansion and thought tying up the strings would be a good way to pass time. If he remembered correctly, he had blamed it on his brother. "Yeah?"

"He never came after you, did he?"

"Hungary tried to."

"Dammit. I knew I shouldn't have let her near you and Alfred," Arthur shook his head.

"She left after dressing me up."

"Oh." Arthur's brows did something weird. Matthew assumed it was supposed to show disbelief. "Is the trauma still with you, then?"

"Of course."

"Well, anyway, Austria, or any nation in their right mind, notable exceptions being Hungary and Prussia, didn't go after you because you were under my wing, technically still a part of me, and that would end badly for them, regardless if any politics got involved in the matter. I was," Arthur's voice faltered for a second, "Well, still am, the British Empire."

"Well, yeah, but we're not colonies."

"We're under influence, whatever the matter. Alfred's a large part of our relations now, and in any case, we have to follow him, just like the nations allied with me had to follow my wake."

"Oh."

"We're here, in any case," Arthur stopped, and, once again, Matthew halted before him, "I mean, you did want to get tea?"

"Thanks for asking," Matthew said , which Arthur seemed to take as a yes.

Following the man to the counter, Matthew knew that, though he may have looked fine in the light of day, at night, it would be a completely different matter. That was how it was with everyone nowadays, masking their solid crutches as solid legs.

"Hey," Matthew said as they waited in line behind a man with bright red hair and a squarish curl, "What are you planning to do the rest of the day?"

* * *

"Trust me, she's not still angry," Lars goaded Matthew to Emma's door, "And even if she was, these are some of my best tulips."

Matthew swallowed, adjusting his grip on the bouquet and wincing at the awkward crinkling of the paper. "It's an apology years overdue."

"I don't even apologize. She's used to it."

"At least I'm better in comparison," Matthew muttered, bringing the tulips closer to his face and breathing in their calming scent.

The door to the house swung open.

"What are you two doing out here?" Emma raised a brow at her brother and Matthew waiting outside the door.

" _Jesuisdésolé,"_ Matthew offered, shoving the tulips in front of Emma.

"I suddenly see your English roots," Emma replied dryly, taking the bouquet nonetheless, "But I accept your apology."

She turned to Lars.

"The tulips need to be put in a vase, but not one too tight, or else the leaves will-"

Emma leaned against her doorway and listened to one of the only things her brother would talk to her this long for. Matthew rocked back and forth on his heels, and Lars continued his lecture on tulip care.

Both the recipients had it memorized by heart.

* * *

"It's a potential," Alfred said, waving off Matthew's concern, "And, if we do decide to act, it'll be out of need."

"You'd be fighting a war for imperialism, Al, don't you think that's a bit ironic?" Matthew looked back from his spot on the couch to his brother.

"I'm fighting a war against communism," Alfred shot back, "And I don't think I have to make sure you're on board with that."

"No," Matthew shook his head, giving up. Apart from the fact he wasn't that passionate about what Alfred was planning in Asia, all truth be told, the real problem was how his paranoia was even seeping into their visits. "No, I'm fine with it. Just a bit of the other side, you know?"

"Yeah," Alfred came to the couch with a bowl of ice cream, placing it in Matthew's hands. As soon as he bounced down on the couch, something in him seemed to relax, the muscles in his arms and back becoming less tense, his face falling back into his regular smile. "Now, ready to watch your Canadiens beaten by my Black Hawks?"

"As if you stand a chance at winning," Matthew picked up the remote Alfred had lying on his table.

Hours later, after the sun had set, both nations were asleep on opposite ends of the couch, the TV still on broadcasting something that none of them were interested enough in to stay awake.

* * *

"It's just what superpowers do," Arthur shrugged, the topic of politics worming its way in to the gathering, "Hopefully, no one comes out of it scathed except for Russia. Also the frog."

"I'm right here," Francis pouted.

"I wouldn't put it in those words," Alfred frowned, "But, I mean, yeah. I don't want Vietnam to get hurt. Just Russia."

"She's going to get hurt, anyway, if she's in between the two of you," Lars said from beside Arthur, "If you want it to happen or not."

"Yeah," Alfred rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, a sure sign he was nervous, before replying, "But, you know, hopefully she'll recover."

"She's a really strong sister," Yong Soo held his head in his arms, covered with his comically long sleeves, "Just, well, she hits back. Really hard. So, even if you're not doing it out of kindness, there's a reason to be nice."

"I suppose this is from experience?" Francis asked.

"Eh, mostly from watching hyung-nim, uh, China. It's funny watching him get beat with a paddle," Yong Soo let out a grin at the memories.

"See, I knew China couldn't be _that_ scary," Alfred laughed.

"I don't know," Francis shrugged, "I remember that you used to get scared of Mathieu's _petit ours blanc._ "

"Killing machine," Alfred shuddered, "It was a killing machine."

* * *

"It's just how things go," Lars said, having followed Matthew outside to the wooden terrace, "You've seen nations get hurt before, and if your problem is that Vietnam's a woman, you've seen lots of female nations get hurt before, too."

"I know," Matthew looked down to the waves, "It's just odd seeing Alfred thrust out like this. It doesn't seem like he really wants to do this, either: going half way across the world to fight a war he'd start."

"Things are changing. We both have to adapt to it, and Alfred has to too. It's his decision how he's going to do that."

"Yeah, I know," Matthew turned to Lars and smiled, "Just let me have my emotions, okay?"

The smile was strained, Matthew knew, corners of his mouth simply growing farther apart instead of curving upwards like they were supposed to, and obviously Lars was better at telling than Russia.

"We've felt this before," Lars leaned on the railing, elbows against the cold wood like Matthew's, "We've felt it a lot worse, things changing. You weren't there when we finally realised there was another _continent_ that everyone had forgotten to put on their maps-"

"Australia," Matthew interrupted, looking up from the waves that lapped on the sandy Marseilles shores below, snapping himself away from what could be a very sad memory of his childhood, "Australia was discovered."

"Yeah," Lars looked, for one of the first times Matthew had seen it, annoyed, "I know. I was the one who discovered it."

The two stood in silence, listening to the deep sound of the ocean and feeling the wind on their faces. Matthew didn't know whether it was the warm feeling of the food Francis had taken upon himself to cook in his stomach, or just the pleasant weather of Marseille that had made him interrupt, but he felt the need to apologize.

"Sorry," he said, his voice much softer than his previous contribution to the conversation, "Please continue."

Lars raised a brow, the scar on his forehead moving up, and Matthew willed himself not to stare at it. For a moment, the older man said nothing, and Matthew was almost expecting him to just walk back, before his mouth opened again.

"We've felt the change before, during the Middle Ages, after the Black Death. The last two wars were unpleasant, to say the least, but at least we knew why people were dying, and at least we were capable of stopping it. And, as I said before, the discovery of a new continent. If you want to go even further back, just ask Arthur or Francis, and they can tell you what it was like when the Roman Empire, for all intents and purposes, the centre of the world to them, collapsed."

Matthew nodded, listening to Lars' voice as it continued on, warm and deep, enjoying the rare chance he had.

"The point is," Lars lifted his head higher, staring at the cloudless sky. It was filled with an impossible number of stars, considering the bustle of the city beneath them, and the moon hung full and pale. "The point is, we've felt this before; we've felt it worse. And it was uncomfortable."

"Always the master of understatements," Matthew couldn't resist the quip, though he made it so it was barely audible. To his relief, instead of Lars stopping again, there was a sort of affection in the annoyance as he sighed.

"If you want the full truth, it was god awful, but the point is that we made it through."

Matthew considered the words, staring out at the Balearic, vast and seemingly endless, with the anchor of company beside him.

Pushing himself off the railing, Matthew became all the more aware of the bright lights and loud laughter coming from inside.

"Well then," Matthew motioned Lars towards the door, "I guess we'll just have to make it through."

* * *

"Lars!" a voice came from down the hallway, interrupting Matthew and Lars' conversation. Both turned around already knowing who they would meet from the accent.

"I was meaning to talk to you about your rabbit, _Zoet_ ," Francis said, in a rare scene, panting as strands of his hair escaped the ribbon they were tied up in.

"Why?" Lars asked.

"Ah, I want to get a similar one for _l'Angleterre,_ dressed up in one of the uniforms I defeated him in," Francis nodded, smile on his face as if he had just figured out Arthur's one weakness, "I just forgot the breed, _désolé._ "

"Oh. A holland lop."

"Perfect," Francis nodded to himself. "Mathieu, would you like to help me?"

"I'll have to decline," Matthew shook his head.

"Ah, what a shame that you won't be my accomplice against the eyebrow scourge," Francis placed a hand on his forehead, feigning sick, "But I must go on! I'll be sure to send you his reaction," and with that, the melodramatic nation left.

Once the two were alone, Matthew turned to Lars, "No one will ever bring up your pet rabbit in conversation, huh?"

* * *

"It's a picnic," Matthew held up the basket as Lars opened the door, "Just like the first time we met."

"The first time we met, we were out in the country. We're in the middle of Amsterdam, now," Lars shook his head, stepping out to meet his friend nonetheless.

"That's why we have cars."

* * *

"It's nice, out here," Matthew looked out to the sprawling park below them, admiring the view of the green grass and the sparkling lake.

"Hm," Lars nodded as he ate what was in the basket. Matthew, in a moment of either goodwill or airheadedness, had packed the entire thing with chocolates and pastries. "What are we going to do here?"

"Oh, you know," Matthew shrugged, his shoulder blades scratching against the rough bark of a tree, "I just wanted to take a break, get away from my government."

"I remember you and Emma spending a year trying to tell me to do exactly the opposite?"

"Eh, it's not full out isolation," Matthew took a piece of chocolate from the basket, "Just a nice pause."

He bit into it, bittersweet and aromatic. He had asked Francis for the first box of chocolate he could find, and from all his time around the siblings of the low countries, he could tell it was from Belgium.

"You'll allow me one of those, won't you?"

"I suppose," Lars nodded, yawning into his hand as if he were to nap and forget everything happening. Matthew wanted that, to forget everything that was happening with the Cold War and his brother's rise and how everyone was recovering too slowly for comfort, forever. But he supposed an afternoon would suffice.

With that in mind, Matthew closed his eyes, sunlight streaming onto his face and Lars' deep breathing beside him.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading, and reviews would be appreciated! By now, you probably know the explanations are coming next.**

 **Translations**

 _ **Désolé, sœur.- Sorry, sister. (French)**_

 _ **Désolé, belle.- Sorry, beautiful. (French)**_

 _ **broer- brother (Dutch)**_

 _ **Je suis désolé.- I'm sorry. (French)**_

 _ **petit ours blanc- small polar bear (French)**_

 _ **hyung-nim- basically an older brother or a similar figure (Korean)**_

 _ **Zoet- Sweet (Dutch)**_

 **Notes**

 **The Korean War, very condensed, occurred when communist, USSR supported North Korea invaded capitalist, US supported South Korea, and allies from all over the globe joined the fight. For a while, it seemed the South would lose, cornered into the Pusan Perimeter, but in the end, the war was settled without any major gains or losses from either side.**

 **NATO- North Atlantic Treaty Organization, a collection of nations on the side of the US**

 **Warsaw Pact- a collection of nations on the side of the USSR**

 **Great Patriotic War- the Russian name for the Second World War**

 **The lightheadedness that Matthew mentioned is just a headcanon that personifications can't stay away from their nation too long before their health starts to deteriorate.**

 **Also mentioned is the Vietnamese War, or, the build up to it. It was fought between communist, USSR supported North Vietnam and capitalist, US supported South Vietnam. Though Canada didn't send soldiers to the battlefield, many Canadian companies did profit from the demand it created.**

 **The Canadiens and Blackhawks are both NHL, or, hockey teams.**


End file.
